How Would I Describe You?
by Life-Drawing-Wizard
Summary: What do some of my favorite pairings have to say about each other? Rated T for implications and language.
1. Pt I

A/N: _Idea I had the other day. There will be a lot of these. For all my favorite pairings and then some. I'm open to pairing suggestions. (Unless it's something super weird like America and...*shudder*..._Estonia_) I'm really just trying to elect a 'Dawww!' from people. See if it works?_

_P.S. Sorry this one is so short. They will get longer. Just because I know that's how my writing usually goes._

**Warning: Genderbending Ahead**

* * *

There were many ways that Mattie could describe Gilbert.

Her first thought was usually that he was an international asshole with an ego the size of Russia.

He was also a total slob.

And a pig (that dude never stopped eating!)

And he enjoyed fighting far too much.

And the word 'awesome'.

Did she mention he was an ass?

He pissed Amelia off.

And Ludwig.

And, occasionally, Mattie.

He had no problem with assaulting her while standing in a hallway or something equally random.

Plus, he was friends with _Francis_ and goodness knows what that creep talked about.

And he and the rest of the BFT liked to play pranks.

Like that time when they flooded Ludwig's house and they'd been _soaked_.

The water dripping off of him as he wrang out his shirt...

He was so handsome...

And an ass.

But handsome nonetheless.

And his eyes, his hypnotizing eyes...

Mattie rolled over to see one offending eye staring back at her, the other shut lazily.

"S'up with you, Birdie?" he drawled.

"I love you," she muttered, kissing him on the lips.

"I know you do," he grinned, "Who could not love this sexy body?"

Oh yeah, and he was an ass.

...

Gilbert had many things to say on the subject of Mattie Williams.

She was adorable.

She made amazing pancakes.

And badass maple syrup.

She turned into a completely different person when she watched hockey.

She ate way too much syrup then was probably good for her.

Even though she protested that she was shy and cowardly, she was one of the bravest people he knew.

For someone so awesome and beautiful, she was extremely self conscious and insecure.

She was really fun to watch horror movies with because she would get scared and hide in his shirt.

She was very sarcastic and witty when she wanted to be and pretty scary when she was angry.

She was awesome. Possibly as awesome as he was.

Or more.

He knew that she was the most amazing person he had ever met.

That she deserved someone way more awesome than he was.

And that he was absolutely and completely head-over-heels in love with her.

Once Gilbert was fairly certain that Mattie was asleep again, he kissed her nose.

"I love you, Birdie," he muttered.

And maybe, if he was just a little more awake, he would have seen her smile.


	2. Pt II

A/N: _I just realized that there was no French _or _German in the last installment. Ah! I have shamed myself! _

_Well, here's Spamano by request (Thanks for the 'd'aww!' _**Glowstick145**_) and because I love Toni and Lovi!_

_I really am working on Magical, I swear! It's just that Greece really hates me..._

* * *

Antonio knew he was the luckiest man in the world.

Why?

Because he had the most amazing girl in the world.

Lovina Vargas.

All to himself.

Sure, she had an extremely foul mouth.

And called him 'tomato bastard'.

And was lazy and clumsy.

She liked cursing at him in Italian.

And Spanish.

She enjoyed hitting him or kicking him.

She hated his friends.

She got pissed easily.

She complained and whined and acted like a two-year-old some of the time.

But then, if she didn't do all those things, she wouldn't be Lovi.

She wouldn't be the one that would blush when he held her hand.

She wouldn't be the one that shared his unhealthy obsession with tomatoes.

She wouldn't be the one that was extremely over-protective, even if she would deny it.

She wouldn't be the one who would put up with him.

Who helped him in his tomato garden.

Who made sure he didn't act like too much of an idiot.

Who drove him home when he was wasted.

Who always warned him not to burn himself on the stove.

She was a crazy, fiery, sexy Italian.

And he loved everything about her. Everything that made her Lovi.

Lovi was getting angry and Antonio knew he only had a short amount of time to calm her down.

So he pinned her arms to her sides, whispered, "_Ti amo_, Lovi," and kissed her on the lips.

Lovi might have been angry, but she wasn't immune, instantly calming down and loosening up.

Antonio broke the kiss, but only to sweep her up (bridal style) and carry her up the stairs.

"You look like a tomato, Lovi!" Antonio told her happily.

"S-shut up, _bastardo_," Lovina muttered.

She was adorable.

...

Lovina was fairly positive that Antonio was an idiot and had several points to back this up.

For one, he felt the need to tell her that she was cute on a regular basis, no matter what the hell he was doing.

Like that time he'd been making breakfast and said something stupid that made her blush. The bastard decided that then would be a perfect time to comment on her tomato likeness.

And put his hand down on the damn stove, successfully burning his hand.  
Bastard.

And he enjoyed kissing her just to see her blush.

Not that she didn't enjoy the kissing...but why did he always have to make them so damn short?

No! No, that's not what she meant!

She...he was...what she meant was...damn blush!

But he was always so...Antonio like.

He was such an idiot.

But he smelled good.

And he tasted like tomatoes.

And he was sexy.

Damn was he sexy.

Like, rock hard abs and ass kind of sexy.

He really could have walked around shirtless in church and no one would tell him to put a shirt on.

Probably because they would all be drooling over his abs.

And his ass.

But, no. Back off, people! His ass was hers!

...

Damn. That came out wrong.

Uh...his eyes!

Dammit, they were sexy too.

Okay, you know what? So what if he had sexy abs and a sexy ass and sexy eyes.

And an INCREDIBLY sexy voice.

Okay, he was just flat out sexy.

Period.

She probably had just used the word sexy too many times to describe one person.

Sue her.

And, you know what? It didn't matter if anyone else thought he was hot.

Because the world could screw itself.

Antonio was HERS.

Lovina sat up, stretching her arms, before looking down at the sleeping Spaniard beside her.

She started playing with his hair, twirling the curly chocolate locks with her fingers.

He was so cute when he slept.

Not that she would ever tell him that!

But she thought it was funny, the bastard was always smiling. Even in his sleep he smiled.

Not that she routinely looked at him while he slept!

But...oh, to hell with it.

Fairly certain that he was asleep, Lovina bent down to kiss Antonio's forehead.

"_Te amo_...Tonio," she whispered, laying back down to go to sleep.

She could of sworn that his smile widened.


	3. Pt III

A/N: _Gah! So busy! Thank _God _for three day weekends! So, here's Gerita. I think it's shorter than the last one...oh well._

_I'm going to work on Magical for the rest of the day and update! I will! Here I go!_

__**Warning: Genderbending Ahead**

* * *

Feliciana loved words. She was always talking, or singing, or writing, but usually talking. She had words to describe everyone, her sister, Kiku, Tonio, Big Brother Francis, everyone had words.

But there was a certain German that she could never seem to find words for.

He was stern and serious.

He had a bad temper.

He made her and Kiku train hard everyday, even if it was raining.

He ate wurst even if Feli thought it tasted bad.

Gilbert enjoyed coming over and giving him beer.

Which usually resulted in him getting drunk.

But he was also kind and considerate.

He hugged her when she was scared and kissed her when she was hurt.

He was awkward and bad at comforting but he always tried his best.

He would let her snuggle up to him when he was supposed to be sleeping.

He would eat her pasta even when he didn't feel like it.

He would compliment her cooking or her outfit every day.

He loved her and she knew it.

So what words would you use to describe someone like that?

There was only one way, one word, really:

Ludwig.

Feli glanced up from the pasta she was making as Ludwig entered the kitchen.

"What's up, Ludwig?" she asked.

The German cleared his throat, "I uh...I just wanted to tell you that training is canceled tomorrow."

"Ve~, why?" Feli wondered, Ludwig never canceled training.

"Well..." Ludwig rubbed the back of his head like he did whenever he was flustered, "Isn't tomorrow your birthday?"

Feli's smile could have knocked out a blind man, "Ve~! You remembered!"

And she jumped up, kissing him on the lips and making the blonde blush furiously.

"Thank you!" she said cheerily.

"Well..um..." Ludwig stuttered, "I should go finish my paper work."

"Ludwig?" Feli called when he was almost to the door.

"Ja?" he asked, turning.

"I love you!" the Italian said happily.

"Ja," Ludwig said, rubbing his neck again and blushing even more, "Me too."

* * *

Ludwig was usually good at reading people, but Feliciana Vargas was one enigma that he just didn't understand.

She was lazy.

She never shut up.

She made endless amounts of pasta.

She would show up late for training.

She mass-produced white flags.

She ran away when faced with a scary nation (England or Russia, for instance).

She was always crying and expecting Ludwig to save her.

She was a picky eater.

She cuddled cats and ignored him when he was ranting.

She slacked off.

Her daily routine usually consisted of surrendering to someone, eating large amounts of pasta, then going to bed.

Normally, Ludwig would say he hated people like that.

But there was definitely something not-normal about Feli because he just...couldn't hate her.

Because he loved her.

She was sweet.

She was kind.

She cared about what others were feeling and thinking.

She knew when he has having a bad day and exactly what to do to make it better.

She always made wurst and potatoes for him even though she didn't like it.

She would snuggle up to him when he couldn't sleep.

She was his ray of sunshine, his constant comfort, his best friend, his heart.

It was one o'clock in the morning and Ludwig still couldn't sleep. Feli was laying next to him, fast asleep.

"Thank you," Ludwig muttered, "And happy birthday."

"_Grazie_," the Italian muttered, "_Ti amo, mi amor_."

"_Ich liebe dich, Italia_," the German muttered back.

The Italain snuggled closer, curving her back against Ludwig's chest.

Soon, the Italian was asleep again.

Wrapping his arms around Feli, Ludwig burried his nose in her hair, and soon he was asleep.


	4. Pt IV

A/N: _I think I'm getting the hang of this! So, I don't know anything about FrUK so I just tried my best. I'm only extremely particular on certain pairings and the UK + some isn't one of them. I usually ship USUK just because America is fun to write. I digress. I'm working on a DenNorge for this right now, actually. This was something I thought of while making dinner, as a matter of fact. _

_Hope I did Francis justice!_

__**Warning: Genderbending Ahead**

* * *

Alice couldn't remember a time when she hadn't known Francis.

Sure, he was annoying as hell.

And liked to try and grope her.

And flirted with anything with a _face_.

And had probably screwed more people _and _nations than he could remember.

Multiple times.

But he was always _there_.

Annoyingly, aggravatingly, irritatingly _there_.

He was her constant.

Whether she was saving his arse from Germany or trying to parent two other nations (plus some) with him.

He was the most flirtatious, spontaneous, arsehole she knew.

But she also knew that that wasn't all of Francis.

He was also vulnerable.

And kind.

And gentle.

He was always thinking about someone else.

What would make _them_ happy.

What would be the best for _them_.

It was just that no one knew that's what he was thinking.

Because Francis is an incredible actor.

Maybe that's why she loved him.

Because he was always considerate, while still appearing to be the most self-centered bastard he could be.

"_Mon petite lapin!_ Where are you, my love?"

Alice looked up from the book in her lap and rolled her eyes.

"In the living room, Frog!" she called back, "And if you pass the kitchen, bring me some more tea, would you?"

She heard Francis whine as dishes clanked.

"You are addicted, _lapin_," Francis admonished.

Alice rolled her eyes.

"I wish you would stop calling me that," Alice muttered, "You make me sound like a scared little bunny who'll run when she gets scared."

Arms slithered around her waist and Alice jumped involuntarily.

"But you are a little bunny," Francis whispered, his breath on her cheek making Alice go red, "The difference is, I'll never let you run."

Alice turned to glare at the Frenchman, "What makes you think I'll run?"

Francis leaned in and captured her lips, making Alice jump again.

He pulled back and smirked.

"What makes you think you can?" Francis tossed his hair over his shoulder with a shake of his head.

"Oh, shut up and kiss me already," Alice growled.

Francis couldn't remember a time when he didn't love Alice.

Maybe it had started when he had found her, alone by that tree, a little rabbit in her arms.

Maybe when she had grown her hair out after Francis said he liked it that way. She still kept it long too.

(He loved to play with it)

Maybe when she had come to see him during the revolution, did what she could without help from her nation.

Maybe when she had come to save him during World War II, and kissed him to make him shut up.

Maybe it was when she had worn that mini skirt on his birthday…

…yeah…probably the mini skirt…

But, mini skirts aside, Francis had always thought Alice was beautiful.

He had been mad at her.

He had laughed at her.

He had even hated her.

But he had always loved her.

Francis could remember clearly the day Alice had finally returned his feelings.

It was the best day of his life.

"_Cher_?"

"Hmm?"

"_Je vous-"_

"Speak English, Francis. It's too early to be speaking Frog."

Francis smiled down at the head lying on his stomach, the blonde hair splayed across his bare chest.

"As you wish," he muttered, kissing her forehead, "I love you, Alice Kirkland."

Alice hummed, blinking one bright green eye lazily at her lover.

"You know," she muttered, "The last person to tell me that was a woman."

Francis smiled, continuing to stroke her hair, "Really?"

"Her name was Elizabeth," Alice muttered, closing her eyes again.

They lapsed into silence.

"H-hey, Frog?"

"Yes, _cher_?"

Alice swallowed, then looked up at Francis, both eyes open, "J-j'taime…Francis…"

Francis's smile widened and he leaned down to kiss her.

"How'd I do?" she muttered against his lips.

"Truthfully?" he asked, "Your accent was terrible."

Alice leaned up to kiss him again, "I plan to practice."

Francis couldn't have been happier.


	5. Pt V

A/N: _I was going to post this last night too, but I fell asleep. Hehe...I just realized that this makes Norway sound like she has MPD..._

_Oh, well. I love my Norge and I love my Ice (of course he made an appearance) so here's my DenNorge._

**Warning: Genderbending Ahead**

* * *

Everyone knew that Lise Bondevik hated Mathias Khøler.

She hated how annoying he was.

She hated how he would never shut up.

She hated how he would get drunk and she would have to drive him home.

She hated how he always invaded her and Erik's house.

She hated how he never respected her personal space.

She hated how he would drink all her coffee.

She hated how he knew just what to do to push her buttons.

She hated that he knew her.

But there was another side of Lise Bondevik and Mathias Khøler that almost no one knew.

Because Lise loved Mathias with all her heart.

She loved his eyes

She loved his smile.

She loved his ridiculous hair.

She loved his laugh.

She loved she loved his voice.

She loved his arms, the ones that had spent centuries protecting her.

She loved his spontaneous personality.

She loved all of him, and she loved that he knew her.

Unknown to most of the rest of the world was this Lise Bondevik, but when Mathias was around, she was there, plain as day.

Lise collapsed on the couch in her house, closing her eyes and wishing the day would end so she could sleep.

Actually, that didn't sound like such a bad idea...

"Sister, that you?"

Lise cracked open one blue eye, searching the house for the voice of her brother.

"I'm sleeping. Go away," she muttered monotonously.

Erik rounded the corner, his white hair falling into his lavender eyes as he searched for his sister.

He spotted her, sprawled on the couch, and a small smile twitched at his lips.

"You might not want to stay so exposed," he told her, "He's coming."

And Lise knew exactly what 'he' Erik was talking about.

Not minutes after Erik had disappeared to make some coffee did a loud, ear-splitting, incredibly familiar voice shout, "NORGE!"

Lise cringed, then considered her options.

She couldn't run, there wasn't time.

She couldn't hide, Mathias might be an idiot but was very good at finding things.

Especially her.

So what could she do except sit up slowly, tense her body and prepare for-

"I FOUND YOU, NORGE!"

Two hundred pounds of pure muscle and energy crashed into Lise's small frame, wrapping her in a bear hug.

"Mathias, you're squishing me!" Lise muttered.

This was entirely untrue, of course. Mathias didn't intentionally hurt her. Or unintentionally.

She couldn't ever remember a time when he had stepped on her toes, or bumped into her, or squeezed her too hard. He was always careful.

"Hey, Mathias," Lise muttered, her blue eyes staring up into turquoise.

"Ja?" he asked, smile still in place.

Lise closed her eyes and muttered, "Jeg elsker deg."

Mathias Khøler didn't like Lise.

He loved her.

Adored her.

He was infatuated, smitten, head-over-heals.

Love.

It was such a weird feeling, although not unfamiliar.

He had loved her for centuries.

Loved her when he first found her, alone in her own cold wilderness.

Loved her when she told him her name, that she was the nation of Norge.

Norway.

It was such a beautiful word, wasn't it?

A beautiful country, just like its embodiment.

She was gorgeous, she was amazing.

She was why he smiled every morning and why he wanted night to go faster so he could see her again in the morning.

He loved all of her.

The mean parts, the nice parts, the sad parts, the cracked.

He knew her every flaw, her every strength, and he loved it.

Love...

It really was strange.

That night, Lise had fallen asleep while they were watching a movie, her head resting on his shoulder.

The movie had ended several minutes previous, but Mathias was greatly enjoying the feeling of Lise's head on his shoulder so he wasn't planning on moving.

But the position was awkward and Mathias was sure that it would give her neck pains the next day if he didn't reposition her.

Standing quietly, Mathias picked up the thin Norwegian bridal-style and carried her to her room.

Once there, he laid her down on the bed and kissed her forehead. Mathias turned to walk away, but something stopped him.

"Where're you going…" Lise muttered.

Mathias smiled and kissed her forehead again, "Home. You won't want me here when you wake up."

Lise frowned, her pale eyebrows drawing together to make little crinkles in her forehead.

"Why wouldn't I want you here?" she muttered.

"Because you don't like me?" Mathias suggested, but Lise stubbornly ignored him.

"I like you very much, Mat…" Lise said, (she only called him Mat when she was drunk or sleep deprived. That wasn't good...)

"Do you?" the Dane asked skeptically.

"I said it earlier, jackass. Get some hearing aids," Norge rolled her eyes.

"You said it earlier?" Mathias asked, now thoroughly amused at the Nord's flustered cheeks.

"I'll say it again," Lise growled, _"Jeg eslker Keg_._"_

_"_Love you too," Mathias smiled, lying down next to the half-conscious Lise and wrapping her in his arms.

He was in bliss if this was real life.


	6. Pt VI

A/N: _To surmise: school is a pain in the ass, homework is a bitch and mornings make me feel like shit. I feel like a terrible person for not updating anything sooner, but I've kind of been struggling with my school work and have been suspended (for the week) from the play that I'm in (as a matter of fact). _

_Sorry if Peter is a little OOC. My brain exploded into fluff a few days ago and still hasn't recovered._

__**Warning: Genderbending Ahead**

* * *

All anyone ever knew about Berwald is that he was scary.

That's all Tina had known, too.

But when they had run away from Mathias together, she had started to see a different side to him.

He was thoughtful.

And considerate.

He was lonely too, because everyone thought he was scary and would run away.

He loved cute things.

He loved the other Nordics and missed them.

He loved Peter.

And, most of all, he loved her.

It was one of the many things Berwald had in common with Mathias, even if he didn't see it.

They were both incredibly considerate.

They were both very devoted to the ones they loved.

They would both die before they let anything happed to those loved ones.

They were both great fathers.

They were both great warriors.

They protected, and they fought.

It was one of the many reasons Tina loved Berwald.

She knew that no matter what happened, Berwald would always be there to protect her.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.

"Tina, y' 'n h'r'?"

"In the living room with Peter!"

Tina looked up and smiled as the tall Swede entered to living room.

"Welcome home!" she smiled.

Berwald walked swiftly over and kissed the Finn on the lips.

"Gl'd t' b' h'm," he told her.

Tina was busy blushing a fierce shade of red.

"Momma! Momma!" Peter exclaimed suddenly, "Can I show Papa what I made earlier?"

"Sure, sweetie," Tina smiled at her adopted son as he ran off to retrieve his creation.

"Remember those LEGOS Mathias gave him for Christmas?" Tina asked as the couple entered the kitchen, "He made a rocket ship out of them. It took him all morning and he's very proud of it."

"Look! Papa, look!" Peter exclaimed, re-entering the living room, brandishing a very multicolored rocket ship, "Mamma said we could take a picture and send it to Uncle Mathias! And maybe that British jerk of jerks so he'll know what it means to mess with the great nation of Sealand!"

Tina smiled fondly at her son while Berwald picked him up easily and put the boy on his shoulders.

"Mamma! Mamma! Take a picture!" Peter exclaimed, grinning.

Tina started looking around.

"Here it is! Say 'cheese'!"

"CHEESE~!"

"Ch's'."

All anyone ever knew about Tina is that she was happy.

That's all Berwald had known, too.

It had started, when they were both very young, when had finally _seen_ her, though.

She was more than just a pretty smile and a happy laugh.

She could be hurt.

She could be angry.

She could be sad.

But no one would ever know, because she'd smile and hand them a cookie or a pastry and she'd look so happy it could convince you.

Convince you that she wasn't really in agony.

She had been in pain, those years she had spent under his kings, then under the Russians.

It had taken him so long to see.

But she had been strong, that was one of the many things he loved about her.

She was confident and strong-willed, but kind and patient.

You should never watch hockey with her.

(Once, the nations had made the mistake of allowing her, Russia, and Canada in the same room during a hockey match. Not a mistake they would ever make again.)

She made the best gingerbread _ever_.

She was a Christmas fanatic.

Berwald swore that their house was decorated for Christmas seven out of the twelve months in the year.

She loved animals.

And Peter.

And Mathias and Lise and Erik.

She loved everyone.

(Except maybe Russia)

She had the biggest heart.

And he loved her for it.

"Uncle Mathias, did you see the picture?"

"_I saw it, kiddo! That's amazing!_"

Berwald smiled at the phone.

At least, he tried to smile. The Swede wasn't how sure it turned out.

"They're so cute. Both of them."

Berwald looked down at the blonde woman who had wiggled her fingers in-between his own.

The Swede nodded.

He looked back at Peter, who was animatedly describing the rocket ship's impending defeat of England to Mathias.

Something touched Berwald's lips and he had a minor freak out (internally, of course) before he realized who it was.

"Shh," she muttered.

Berwald smiled, wrapping his arms around the Finn's waist and leaning in to kiss her more.

"_Jag alskar deg_," he muttered in her ear.

Tina smiled, "_Rakastansinua_, Berwald."

"MOMMA! PAPA! THAT'S GROSS!"

"_Shh! Peter! They're having a moment! Don't interrupt!_"

Tina broke away to laugh and hug her son.

Oh, and he loved her laugh.

And so much more.


	7. Pt VII

A/N: _So, here is ChibitaliaxHRE, per request. I don't know why I had such a hard time with this! I have a really hard time writing HRE. And not because I don't like him, but because I feel like there is so much more to him than this wimpy little kid who grows up to be Prussia's little brother (which makes him awesome by association) and then Germany (I fully support the HRE-grows-up-to-be-Germany) but I always feel like I do a sucky job of doing him justice. Oh, well. _

**Warning: Genderbending Ahead**

Kind of...

* * *

Italia loved many things.

She loved pasta.

She loved _Nonno_ Rome.

She loved _Sorella_.

She loved drawing and painting.

She loved cheese.

She loved kitties.

She loved Big Brother Spain.

She loved Miss Hungary.

And, sometimes, she loved Mr. Austria.

But there was something else that was nagging at her.

If you asked Italia if she loved Holy Roma, of course she would say 'yes'.

He was kind and considerate and made her feel pretty and all warm and fuzzy inside and he turned this really pretty shade of red whenever she talked to him, whatever that meant!

But, as much as Italia loved pasta and kitties, she would almost have to say that she loved Holy Rome…more.

Maybe not more than pasta.

But definitely more than kitties and even more than painting and drawing!

Somewhere in the middle.

That confused Italia.

She had never loved anyone except _Sorella_ and _Nonno_ almost as much as pasta!

This really was confusing…

"Holy Rome! Holy Rome, look!"

Italia raced to her friend, holding up a grey cat for his inspection.

"I-Italia!" Holy Rome exclaimed in surprise.

"Look at the _gattino_ I found!" Italia smiled, showing the cat to Holy Rome, "It looks like you, don't you think?"

Holy Rome stared at the cat's blue eyes for a second, contemplating the safest path, before deciding on, "I-It's a very nice cat, Italia."

The blonde nation mentally smacked himself for saying something so lame, but Italia beamed at him in a way that suggested that Christmas had come early.

"It's a wonderful _gattino_, Holy Rome!" she exclaimed, "I found it in Mr. Austria's house eating some left-over sausage. Do you think it's hungry?"

Holy Rome stared at the cat some more.

All he saw was a cat.

But, it did look a bit…lonely…

And maybe a tad hungry…

Oh dear, Italia was starting to rub off on him.

"Do you have any sausages, Italia?" Holy Roma asked.

Italia beamed, her gold eyes glittering with innocence and happiness and making Holy Rome blush.

"Holy Rome," Italia said thoughtfully, "You always turn red when I talk to you!"

Holy Rome's face fell.

She was sure to hate him now.

"It's a very pretty color," Italia continued, "I wish I could find a paint that color!"

The blonde nation breathed a sigh of relief.

"Let's go get some sausages for our little _gattino_~!" Italia sang as she marched towards the house.

She stopped and turned when Holy Rome didn't follow her.

"Come on, Holy Rome!" Italia called.

Holy Rome felt himself smiling a little, "Coming!"

Holy Rome wasn't really sure what he thought about Italia.

She made him all warm and fuzzy inside.

Made him feel welcomed, _needed_ even, and that was a rarity in this day and age.

She reminded him of sunshine and flowers and cats and pasta.

Italia was all the wonder that the world still held, her happiness contagious and her personality intoxicating.

He never seemed to be able to act right around her, though.

He would turn red and be nervous and excited at the same time and he would get all flustered and-

What on earth was he supposed to do whenever she was around, anyway?

He was the Holy Romano _Empire_ for goodness sake, he shouldn't be flustered over a little _girl_.

But she was more than that and he knew it.

So much more than that.


	8. Pt VIII

A/N: _This one is a lot deeper (at least it seems that way to me) than the other ones. I blame sappy music and really cool fiddles._

_I think someone asked for Fem!UsUk._

_Dunno, enjoy anyway!_

**Warning: Genderbending Ahead**

* * *

Arthur Kirkland is many things.

A pirate.

A tyrant.

A nation.

A spirit.

A representation.

A brother.

A lover.

A jailer.

An owner.

A betrayer.

A follower.

A man.

A father.

And Amelia Felicity Kirkland had been his daughter.

She had kept him strong through so much that had happened in his life, kept him moving.

She had left him, it was true, but he didn't hold that against her.

He had been a foolish man, afraid of what he might loose.

What she would gain.

But, in the end, he was still her father.

Still her big brother.

Her protector.

And he couldn't hurt her.

At least, that's what he had told himself.

But, as he had stood before her burning capital city and seen the determination in her eyes, he could no longer believe that.

He had marred forever the one thing he had promised to keep sacred, and that was something he could never forgive himself for.

"Hey, Iggy! Get over here!"

Arthur's eyebrow twitched, "For the last time, my name is Arthur. Not. Iggy."

"That's funny," Amelia looked at him in mild curiosity, "You said it would be the last time like, forty times ago."

"I wasn't aware you could count that high," Arthur muttered sarcastically.

Amelia gripped her chest in mock offense, "Arty! You wound me!"

"My name's not Arty, either," Arthur replied testily.

"Well, my name's not Elizabeth, but you don't see me pitching a fit about it," Amelia said.

"Elizabeth is a perfectly nice name," Arthur said, glaring at his former charge.

The American rolled her eyes, "Yeah, for someone super stiff and proper. Do I look proper?"

"You used to be," Arthur muttered before someone with brains could stop him.

"Huh?" Amelia asked eloquently.

Arthur shook his head, "Nothing. Are we going to watch this movie or not?"

"Well, _duh_," Amelia said, as if Arthur had suddenly asked if the sky had sprouted polka-dots, "Why do you think I invited you over?"

Amelia Jones was many things.

A hero.

A heroin, (whatever the heck _that_ was. Arthur would always say that when she called herself a hero and she was pretty sure that heroin was drug.)

A patriot.

A fighter.

A cowboy.

A southerner.

A nerd.

An athlete.

A 'that's classified'-er.

A beach bum.

An east coats-er.

A sister.

A daughter.

And Arthur Kirkland had been her father.

But then, something had changed.

She had less freedom, even though she had just won him a war.

She bled for him, died for him, cried for him, and sacrificed so much.

But he tore it up in her face and stomped on it.

And that's when she had had it.

She didn't care if she was being childish or unreasonable or stupid even.

She wanted out and she had wanted it then.

And even after she thought she was done, Arthur had come back and turned her own sister against her.

As Amelia had watched her capital burn, all she wanted was Arthur's head on a silver platter.

But she would never get it, because Arthur Kirkland stood on a pedestal that no one could reach.

But she'd be damned if she didn't reach him somehow.

Someday, she'd yank him down out of the clouds to join her.

Amelia wasn't sure how it had happened, but one minute they had been watching the credits (the American laughing at some of the names on the screen, Arthur rolling his eyes at her stupidity) and the next they were kissing.

Arthur was looking for something, Amelia could feel it in he desperate movements, and she was more than willing to give whatever he wanted.

She had decided almost a century ago that she would sacrifice everything for this man.

In this kiss of his, Amelia knew that Arthur felt her resolution.

Amelia tasted something salty and suddenly the kiss was over and she was pushed against the heartbeat of the Brit before her.

And he was crying.

Thoroughly confused, Amelia hugged her care taker back, rubbing circles on his back and running her fingers through his hair until the great nation could for coherent sentences.

"I…I'm so…sorry…" he finally gasped.

Amelia was going through a bit of a shock.

Arthur Kirkland did not cry and Arthur Kirkland did not apologize for _anything_.

"For what?" Amelia asked, still completely confused.

"For being…such a git…"

Still confused, Amelia remained silent.

"I didn't want to let you go…and then I just ended up hurting you instead," Arthur managed.

Amelia shook her head, "No! I was foolish and such a child! All I could see was that I didn't get what I wanted and I didn't care who got hurt in my way to get it."

Arthur laughed.

"I guess we're both wrong, then," he smiled, "I guess it's okay for me to say 'I love you' then?"

Amelia kissed him again, "I love you too." and Arthur kissed back, this time knowing he had found exactly what he was looking for.

Arthur may never be able to forgive himself for what he did.

Amelia may never forgive herself for ruining the man she loves most.

But they'll work through it.

Together.


End file.
